Horizon Bookstore Traverse City Novels & Stories

They stopped at a small coffee shop that served the best latte in the city, and Larisa couldn't help but gush about how delicious it was. "I'm glad you like it," Steven said with a grin. "I come here all the time. It's one of my favorite spots in the city." As they continued their tour of the city, Steven showed Larisa a beautiful park filled with cherry blossom trees, and even took her to a small bookstore tucked away in a quiet alley. "I love this place," Steven said as they browsed the shelves. "They have the best selection of books and the owner is always happy to recommend something new."

He made a show of stretching, raising his arms above his head and cracking his neck. Nox looked between the two of us, his jaw rigid and lips pursed. Rather than say what was actually on his mind, he grunted, “Lets go,” and ushered us to the door. Primrose City Hall was a ten-minute drive away from the hotel, a straight shot through the heart of town, bypassing everything I had once loved about this place. The Midnight Fall’s pack was one of the three oldest packs in existence. A single stroll through town and you’d be able to tell. If you paid attention, that is.

"He's coming, but, when I can't tell you." Dreading the next few days couldn't happen. I had to be calm. Getting the packs together was going to be hard. We were the biggest pack in America. We stayed in the HOH Rainforest of Washington State. Seattle was a little over four hours away. There was also Port Angeles and Oylimpia. Near us stood Mt. Olympus. Not the one in Greece, but the same name. Suddenly I froze. "There's no way. Is there?" Hercules said startled. "It has to be a coincidence. They were named many years apart "

Just sneakers and a light jacket. The city was unusually quiet. I ended up at a small antique bookstore tucked between a florist and a tailor. It had no flashy signage, just a brass bell on the door and a handwritten welcome note in cursive. Inside, the scent of old paper and cedar wrapped around me like a story waiting to be told. I let myself drift between the aisles until a book caught my eye—Letters Never Sent. It was a collection of real, unsent letters from women over the last century. To lost loves, estranged mothers, unborn children.

The bookstore was tucked into a sleepy corner of the city the kind of place where no one asked questions and everyone left you alone. Ava stood outside for a moment, watching people move in and out with bags of secondhand paperbacks and chai lattes. Her fingers were tight around the strap of her purse, her mind still spinning from the photo, the note, and the warning: Don’t trust him. She pushed the door open. A bell chimed softly overhead. Inside, it smelled of old pages and cinnamon. Cozy. Safe. Dangerous in a way that wasn’t loud but quiet, careful, and packed with hidden truths.

The city blurred past—historic brownstones, the shimmering waterfront, bustling streets lined with cafés. Despite herself, she enjoyed the ride. There was something strangely peaceful about sitting in the car with him, no corporate meetings, no business deals, just… this. Then, he pulled up in front of a quiet hidden bookstore, nestled between two ivy-covered brick buildings. She blinked. "A bookstore?" Darius shrugged. "Figured you'd like it. She gave him a skeptical look before stepping out, the scent of old paper and warm coffee wrapping around her the moment they entered.

Luna felt a surge of excitement as she embarked on a whirlwind exploration of the city's vibrant neighborhoods and renowned landmarks. She strolled through the enchanting streets of Notting Hill, mesmerized by the colorful houses and charming markets. Luna immersed herself in the rich literary history of the city, visiting the British Library, where she gazed in awe at ancient manuscripts and literary treasures. She also paid a visit to the iconic Shakespeare's Globe Theatre, where she witnessed captivating performances of the Bard's timeless plays.

Travis greeted me cheerfully on the other line and for the first time since Chris told me he was cancelling our holiday plans, I smiled for real. “Hey you!” I greeted back. “So, how does a business mogul like Travis Cross spend Christmas Eve? Are you at some VIP Christmas party in Manhattan or some VIP club that only allows entry to the rich and the famous?” It took a while for him to answer. Then he said, “Actually, I’m standing in a snowy street in front of a line of apartments that has a coffee shop on the corner and an old bookshop that only sells travel books.” For a moment, I couldn’t understand what he was saying. And then it occurred to me that Sarah’s apartment has a coffee shop in